


A Life of Dance

by OneFail_AtATime



Series: Arya x Gendry Week 2018 [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya x Gendry Week 2018, AxG Week 2018, F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, Gendrya Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneFail_AtATime/pseuds/OneFail_AtATime
Summary: When she looked back, Arya had been dancing her whole life.. . .Arya looks back through her life and her time spent dancing.





	A Life of Dance

**Author's Note:**

> While preparing for Arya x Gendry Week 2019, I found this in my 2018 doc and realized that I had never posted them! Enjoy!

When she looked back, Arya had been dancing her whole life.

Some of her earliest memories were of the nights where she and her siblings had laughed, teased, and danced around the great hall of Winterfell during feasts. Nobody had paid any mind to Arya Underfoot as she weaved through crowds of lords and ladies, laughing as if she had no care in the world. Because really, what worries could a four year old have?

The carefree air that came with dancing as a child faded quickly as she grew older. It was no longer acceptable for a girl her age to run around with messy braids and dirty dresses. She was expected to learn how to dance _like a proper lady_ , like Sansa. Like her mother.

And she thought it was dreadful.

 _Only fools care about dancing_ , she told herself as she escaped her lessons.

Her mother’s irritation was clear but her father would only laugh. Ned Stark never forced his daughter to continue her lessons, nor did he force her to start new lessons once they had arrived in King’s Landing. There were many more feasts in the capital than she ever remembered in Winterfell and it was also more difficult to escape them. But she did because she hated the idea of being watched. As soon as the perfumed lords and ladies all stood to take one another by the hand, she left using any and all excuses to make sure that nobody would come looking for her. Because she didn’t feel comfortable dancing with the fools of the capital and the propriety of it all had ruined the freedom she used to feel whenever she had been able to dance in the safety of her childhood home.

But _water dancing_ , oh water dancing was different. She was _fighting_ and she loved every moment of it. Let Sansa believe what she wished of her afternoons with Syrio, returning bruised and dirty. None of it mattered. Arya had found a form of dancing that her older self didn’t absolutely despise and she wasn’t going to let it go.

“Let them think what they wish.” Arya would murmur whenever Sansa and her capital friends would snicker at her disheveled state. “I’ll be the best dancer yet.”

But then Needle was stolen from her all too soon and she felt as if a part of her own body had been cut away from her. She didn’t feel like Arya Stark or even Arry the orphan. All she felt like now was a helpless, unwanted girl. A powerless little girl. All she felt was bitterness and anger.

The days, weeks, and months as a prisoner all blended together. Every day she woke wondering how she would protect herself or how to get free and every night she went to sleep wondering if this would be the sum of her life. She had been Arya Stark the water dancer, Arry the orphan, and now she was Nan the Nobody.

Until she was No One.

A No One did not dance, not in the way that a lost girl would. No One trained because it was necessary and needed in order to serve the Many Faced God. But though she had forced herself to give up everything linking her to her past, she still couldn’t let go of her original lessons. Those lessons helped make No One a better swordsperson and when it truly mattered, she emerged from the dark as Arya Stark, a water dancer once more.

. . . . . . . . .

Before she realizes it, she’s bounding and dancing on the tips of her toes when she makes it through the gates of Winterfell after nearly a decade. The Blood Wolf had returned to her pack and vowed to continue her training. An army of the dead wouldn’t stop her. Though lords questioned her experience, those questions were silenced when her fighting left the men speechless. After a while, nobody questioned her command.

Arya Stark trained day and night. She trained with the men and women in her family home throughout the day but her favorite time was when she trained late into the night, long after everyone else had gone to bed. It was peaceful with just herself and her water dancing as she moved through the snowy courtyards under the cover of the moon.

Until the man with a brilliant pair of startling blue eyes emerged from the shadows and asked to join her.

And then they were dancing.

Just as they had all those years before when they had escaped their captors. He still teased her with a crinkly eyed smile. She still shoved him in return. Their weapons clashed in training just as often as they argued but in that moment they were almost able to forget the dark threat that remained on the horizon. Years spent apart had changed them both.

He was stronger. She was faster.

Then, as the Long Night began and Winterfell was forced into darkness, Arya found herself dancing with the dead. Their army was a nightmare made real and even with so many forces united to fight for the living, she still felt _afraid._ For the first time in years she was afraid that she would lose someone she loved, which had become such a strange feeling for someone who had spent so much time alone.

And so she fought.

Arya Stark fought and danced with the dead as she recalled every lesson from her training. In the Long Night, she began to repeat a list of names that she vowed the God of Death would never take before the dawn.

Not Jon. Not Bran. Not Sansa. Not Gendry.

Not today.

And then, just like that, the dead fell for the final time. It was over.

They had survived.

. . . . . . . . .

They had survived against all the odds and because of it, both the queen and Sansa had agreed it was reason enough to celebrate after the appropriate length of mourning for those they had lost. The castle was opened to battle worn survivors and everyone filled the halls and courtyards with laughter. Even Sansa, who always seemed to serious, had found enough knights and Northmen to twirl her across the floor of the great hall. And it was a breathless Sansa who found Arya in the shadows of said hall with the Red Wolf’s face bright with a newfound sense of happiness.

“You can’t stay there all night.” Her sister insisted as she came to stand beside her. “Why not come sit at the table with everyone? The Dragon Queen was telling Jon of Essos. Join us.”

“There are too many people at the table.” Arya said stubbornly.

Sansa stared at her, silent for a brief moment before a bright smile lit her face once more. “Fine. Then you will dance with me instead.”

Arya’s gaze narrowed. “No.”

“Yes.” The Lady of Winterfell insisted as her hands wrapped themselves around Arya’s own wrists, pulling her out from the shadows. “Tonight is a reason to celebrate and we shall do so together. The Battel for the Dawn has been won. You’re dancing.”

It was hard to say no to Sansa after everything they had lived through. The sisters had fought to keep the North united when the Targaryen queen had arrived and they had succeeded. Together they were the She-Wolves of Winterfell. And both knew now that they would always be able to depend on one another. Arya had already gone into battle once willing to give her own life if it meant keeping her sister safe.

So she danced.

The sister’s spun together. They waltzed. They reeled. It was so unlike the water dancing that she had practiced for years in order to stay alive. These dances themselves were about living and she felt it deep in her core. By the time that the music finally slowed and Arya had collapsed onto a bench next to Sansa, her eyes were just as bright as her sister’s and she was just as breathless.

The two sister laughed with one another and accepted the mug of ale that Podrick poured for them. Everything felt lighter and different as a slightly tipsy Sansa leaned against her and sighed.

“We’re alive.”

“We’re alive.” Arya agreed. She took a long drink of ale only to set it down a moment later when she realized that Sansa’s smile had turned into a smirk. “What?”

Sansa’s dark blue eyes gleamed mischievously before she tilted her head towards the table next to them. “The blacksmith is staring at you.”

It felt as if all the heat from every fire in the hall was on her as she turned in her seat to where she knew he would be. Truth be told, she had been watching him too. But her brother and the Stormlander knight had seemed to have already claimed him for the evening. Except now, Jon was back to whispering with his queen and Gendry was left where he had been all evening, nursing the same mug of ale with Ser Davos at his side.

Arya grinned.

 _They were alive_ , as Sansa had said so many times already. Arya couldn’t help but to smile as she stood from her bench and moved towards the lord’s table. They were alive and they were in Winterfell. They were together.

Gendry’s ice blue eyes widened as she reached to take the mug from his hand before threading his fingers with her own. She smiled in turn.

“We’re dancing.”

. . . . . . . . .

But peace didn’t last forever and she soon found herself dancing again.

The Golden Company landed in Westeros and the Mad Queen in the South moved her remaining army to form an attack. A new tension settled in the North.

Just as Death had been everyone during the Long Night, the god was after everything and everyone in the siege of King’s Landing. The people of the capital were fleeing in fear at the sight of Daenerys Stormborn and her dragons flying overhead.

Then everything was burning.

This battle was different. Not only were they fighting the living but she wasn’t fighting alone. Jon wasn’t attacking from the air and Gendry … Gendry wasn’t lost amongst the crowds where she couldn’t protect him. They were both at her side, right where they belonged. She was stronger with the two of them and she knew that they felt the same. They moved as a team and had one another’s back as their army moved throughout the city and towards the Red Keep where the mad Lannister queen had hidden herself away. Being back it the capital reminded her of everyone she had lost at the hands of the corrupt family that had nearly consumed them all. She thought of Mycah, her first friend after her brothers. She thought of Nymeria, who she had chased away in order to save her life. She thought of Syrio. She thought of her father.

And continued to dance.

She danced through the streets of the capital with her brother and Gendry at her side. They were closer to a new beginning, closer to a life without Lannisters who consumed everything like quicksand.

Until the explosions began.

Gendry’s whispered stories about the burning of the Sept had not been exaggerated, she realized as she made her way through the city. Their path was constantly rerouted as they dived and ran from the explosions caused by the volatile liquid that the Mad Queen had placed throughout the city.

Smoke filled her lungs. Ash coated everything. And the heat of the flames scoured her skin.

They were dancing with wildfire.

. . . . . . . . .

Finally, _finally_ , the wars were over.

But everyone was getting married and she was being asked to dance again.

It was hard to say no at Jon and Daenerys’ wedding. No matter where she looked or who she stood with, everyone seemed to be smiling. They were all so glad to see a war ending with a marriage that whispers of concern about the new Targaryen rulers were mum on the morning that her brother wed the Dragon Queen.

They all celebrated by dancing.

The wedding itself was held at Dragonstone, the ancestral home of both the bride and groom. It was a small event but there were still a number of knights and lords who managed to gather the nerve to ask her to dance, only to be refused. Arya knew that she would only dance with one man. So when he appeared at her side with bright blue eyes and a crinkly eyed smile, she couldn’t say no.

Gendry held her close as they swayed in circles. His strong arms were wrapped around her tightly as he breathed words of comfort into her ear.

They were alive. They were together.

Everything was changing but they were together.

She repeated the same thing to herself while standing with her siblings in the godswood at Winterfell. Sansa was a vision in her Stark gray gown and her hair pulled back into a simple Northern plait. She would be the Lady of Winterfell, no matter the name of the man that she had chosen to marry. She would be the Stark in Winterfell, the force in the North. But now she would also be a wife, a mother.

When her sister pulled her out onto the floor and away from the lady’s table, smiling and laughing as she had been after the battle, Arya couldn’t say no. Sansa was just so happy. After all they had lived through, it felt good to see her sister happy as they laughed and spun across the hall. The guests of the hall became a blur as they danced with clasped hands and smiling faces. The Stark sisters slowed to a sway with their arms around one another and bursts of breathless laughter escaping them. Sansa held her close and whispered in her ear, smirking as she did so.

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”

This time, it was his turn to smile broadly and make his way towards her. His blue eyes were bright and his hands on her waist were warm. Gendry spoke her name softly and held her close, together like they should have been all along.

Which is, perhaps, why it didn’t feel so unreal when it happened.

He was hers and she was his.

This was something that she had known for months, if not years, but now it was for everyone to know. He held her close and kissed her lips in front of them all. She flushed with his open display of affection but threaded her fingers through his own nonetheless. _Mine_ , she thought possessively as he pressed their joined hands to his lips. _He’s mine._

And she was his.

Nobody spoke against him, not that she expected them to. They were both heroes of the wars that had helped to bring the Dawn and end the Mad Queen. They were the Dark Wolf and the Bull and they fought for their people just as they fought for one another. It warmed her heart to see him recognized for all that he had done.

Gendry caught her eye and smiled. “What’s on your mind, _wife_?”

Wife.

She was someone’s wife. She was _Gendry’s wife_. The thought was just as unsettling as it was comforting. The urge to run had been real when he had first made the suggestion between whispers and kisses but in the end she knew that she would never say no. Just as she knew she would never be a wife to anyone, save Gendry. He had seemed just as surprised by his own question that night but after she had kissed him softly, whispered her answer in his ear, and ran her fingers through his inky black locks, the fool had held her so tightly against him that he had nearly squeezed the very breath from her lungs.

And he hasn’t stopped smiling since.

Arya smiled as well. “I’m thinking of us. If someone had told a younger me that I would marry a stubborn idiot lord and planned to live in his castle then I would have called them mad.”

Gendry laughed and leaned in so his face was inches from her own. She could see the darker flecks of blue reflecting in his gaze. Her _husband_ reached out to place his hand on her knee and began to trace circles across the fabric of her breeches while smiling teasingly. “We’re living in _your_ castle, my wild wolf.” He grinned, his mouth inches from her own. “And if I remember correctly, you fell in love with me as a stubborn blacksmith long before your brother made me a lord, _my lady_.”

She grabbed a fistful of his jerkin in response and brought his mouth crashing down against her own. A soft chuckle escaped him as his hands came up to rest against the wall. His lips moved against her own in a dance that they were now quite familiar with, though it never ceased to grow dull. Arya relished the way that his lips felt against her own knowing that everything would be different from that moment on. They had always been able to trust and depend on one another but now they were bound to each other in the eyes of the gods.

Arya pulled back and smiled softly as Gendry brought his forehead to rest against her own.

He reached down to take her hand in his own, pulling her to her feet.

“Dance with me, _wife_.”

. . . . . . . . .

And then it was as if a scene had been taken from the past. Nearly two decades had gone since she had last seen Winterfell as lively as it was that evening. Lords in the north had gathered their families to celebrate the anniversary of the New Dawn and even townsfolk had been invited to join. She stood with her sister and Arya couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her own children chasing each other throughout the dancing pairs, just as she had done at their age.

Her eldest were dancing with a group of children from town while the twins were nearly bowling everyone over in their attempts to chase one another. Each time Davos had called after the pair, they had only stopped to insist that they _‘were dancing’_ , causing Arya to snort with laughter.

“What are you laughing at, wife?” Gendry appeared at her side in that moment, arms full with their youngest who soon began to squirm and reach for her mother.

“Just at the twins.” She said with a smirk in Sansa’s direction. “Your dear good sister seems a little overwhelmed by our wild brood.” Arya leaned in to wrap her arm around Gendry’s waist and began to smother their youngest in loud, smacking kisses.

“Marya there is the best behaved of them all, after Lya of course.”

“Neither Gendry or I can take credit for either. Davos was practically glued to them whenever Gendry and I were away.”

“The man loves his grandkids.” Gendry admitted with a grin. “He wouldn’t stop telling stories about Arya and the White Walkers last night. The children were begging for their own Valyrian steel by the end of it.”

Sansa looked alarmed. “They won’t get any, will they?”

Arya laughed once more. Her hand smoothed back Marya’s unruly inky black curls as she thought of the wooden practice swords that she had asked the craftsmen to make. “They are years away from that, sister. Lya’s only just asked after a bow. She may have no interest in swords.”

“Oh, but she will.” Gendry insisted as he pulled Arya closer so that Marya was nestled between them. He looked over to where all their children were now dancing in a group, as wild as the wolf that they bore in their banners. Her blacksmith husband kissed their daughter’s brow and he grinned. “Just as this one will. And the next one.”

Sansa’s Tully blue eyes widened at that and she stared back in shock. Arya elbowed Gendry in the side with a force that made him gasp for loss of breath. “Stupid.” She growled. “I hadn’t gotten around to telling her yet.”

Arya turned back to her sister only to see that Sansa’s wide eyes were glued to her abdomen, though the telltale swelling would not yet be visible.

“I don’t believe it.” The Lady of Winterfell murmured.

“You’ve said that about every pregnancy.” Arya mused as she pulled back from her husband only to take their daughter into her arms. Marya squirmed and began to point out to where her older siblings were still laughing and dancing with the others.

Sansa was still trying to collect herself when she looked back. “But Marya is barely twelve moons!”

“I’m so glad our dear Lady Stark knows her numbers well, husband.” Arya teased. Her tone seemed to finally snap Sansa out of her shocked state because she reached out to take Arya’s hand.

“Are you happy?”

Arya looked away from her sister to meet her husband’s own bright blue gaze. Time had aged them both but she could still see him as the stubborn smith’s apprentice who had become her best friend so many years ago.

“Of course I am.” And she meant it.

Their quiet moment was broken when a small army of Baratheon-Starks came barreling into where their parents and aunt stood. “Mama!” Her eldest daughter called out as she clung to her leg. Lyanna was staring up at her with the bright blue-gray gaze that made her look far older than she was. “Can I learn to water dance and fight White Walkers like you? Please!”

A sense of pride rushed through her and she could feel tears swell quickly as she handed Marya to her husband and knelt beside her eldest daughter, taking Lya’s hands into her own. “All the White Walkers are gone, my fiercest wolf. The Northern people helped to kill them all in the Battle of the Dawn.” Lya’s face began to fall before Arya continued quickly. “But of course you will learn to water dance.” She leaned in to kiss her daughter’s brow as she fought her tears. A lump formed in her throat as she looked at her other children that had gathered around their sister. Ned with his serious gaze that reminded her so much of the grandfather he had been named for. Rickon and Robb, the twins who were as identical in their talent for causing mischief as they were in looks. Then there was Marya in Gendry’s arms, her youngest that somehow always brought a smile to anyone’s face.

She had formed a pack of her own with Gendry in their years together and now that pack was looking to learn from her. Arya looked up and met Gendry’s gaze with a wobbly smile as she continued to fight the urge to cry.

“You will all learn because we are the fiercest of wolves and wolves protect their pack.” She pulled each of her children into her arms and inhaled deeply, praying to the gods that her children would never have to face anything like the wars that she had lived through.

Breaking from her dark thoughts, Arya stood and reached for Lya’s hand. “The time for water dancing will come later. But now, we’re dancing with family.”

And with that, Arya Stark led her pack into a dance full of breathless laughter and teases, just as she had done with her siblings all those years before.

 _‘Are you happy?’_ Sansa had asked her those few moments before.

She was dancing again. Of course she was.


End file.
